


It's You Again

by tswarlee17



Series: KaiJou - Riddles [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Coffee Shops, Confrontations, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Kaijou will prevail trust me, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ inclusive, Multi, Post-Canon, Semi-Canon Compliant, Sibling Bonding, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 03:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tswarlee17/pseuds/tswarlee17
Summary: Seto and Katsuya lead different lives now, not even connected by their aspirations to climb the dueling ranks anymore. All they have left in common are regrets and the written link in their wrists. Wishing to meet one's soulmate is a loser's task, but neither of them are really losers, are they?
Relationships: Honda Hiroto | Tristan Taylor/Nosaka Miho, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Series: KaiJou - Riddles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209272
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chance Meeting

Seto Kaiba didn’t care much about fate and magic. To him, the universe can simply be described by its textbook definition—a system consisting of space and time along with the congregation of stars, planets, and other massive objects. It doesn’t have thoughts of its own. Seto’s a part of it but never of its schemes oror executions. 

He has more important things to take care of. His company, his brother, and himself. If he ever did prioritize taking care of himself. 

Whatever whimsical realities he had experienced during his time with Yugi and “his gang of nerds,” (as Seto used to call them) had been stored into the back of his brain. Not forgotten but not revisited. Since the day the Pharaoh left, not a single nerve inside him actively pried into the world of destiny. Yet he stared at the words permanently sketched on his left wrist, running his hand on its lines.

_ In its temper, it ravages _

_ In its peace, golden harbingers dance in its midst _

_ Weightless expanse, transparent ocean _

Seto’s riddle. The answer to this riddle belonged to whoever his soulmate is. If this were still nine years ago, he would make gagging noises (though there was no way he’d let anyone hear him doing this). The thought of needing or having a soulmate greatly repulsed him. But now, it just dances listlessly in his mind. A possibility he doesn’t want to admit that he wants.

He didn’t know, however, that the universe had been conspiring against him. That, on his way to get the most deliciously bitter cup of coffee in a humble café near Kaibaland, he would meet a person from his past. With the same blonde hair. With the same light-colored clothes. Before getting to decide how he would even react, that person turns and glances at him. And they still have the same look in their brown eyes. Jounouchi Katsuya stands before him, with a frown painting his face.

“Oh, great,” Jounouchi says, the irritation in his voice apparent. “It’s you.”

Going to this café is a mistake and Seto can only retrace the steps he took to stumble here.

* * *

A week earlier, Seto sat at the head of a large desk, a marble one that occupied the majority of the room. Around him were members of his Board of Directors and on the seat by his right side sat Mokuba, who was doing his best to keep a straight face as his older brother discussed Kaiba Corporation’s current state. Every day it was just the same old meetings with the same old board of directors. (Seto emphasizes “old.”) As the board meeting continued, Seto couldn’t help but let his mind lightly wander.

After almost a decade of Seto being the President of KaibaCorp, the company is facing a stable amount of attention globally. Kaibaland has opened its second branch in Japan while having over seven other branches internationally. Not to mention the success of Duel Academies all over the world. Seto’s already executed most of his bright ideas by the time he turned twenty. From duel disk technology to interactive AR, he’s done it. If he wasn’t stuck mulling in place these days, ideas for future endeavors would appear as they always had. 

From under the table, Mokuba lightly kicked his foot. Seto snapped his head to his brother, who gestured to the other people in the room. They were prattling on about new possibilities and prospects KaibaCorp could look into. Reintroducing Cap Monsters? No, that’s a risky move now that Duel Monsters has reached peak interest. Hosting another tournament? No, that’s what his Dueling ARs were for. 

Before any function in his body could stop him, he simply stated, under his breath: “Duel History Museum.”

“Seto-sama, may you please repeat that?” One of the representatives far from him requested, averting his eyes from Seto as soon as the words left him.

“Duel Monsters is dominating the industry, and so is, as well, KaibaCorp .” With only just a few words to start, Seto grabbed their attention right away. "Even in just the start of this year, a new generation of youth has partaken in tournaments of various levels and due to the favorable outcome of the Duel Academies, we have a new batch of young duelists. It’s only necessary we finally reveal to the public the whole picture.” 

Everyone quickly agreed with his statement, no one dared to go against him. He even earned rounds of “that’s very brilliant, Seto-sama” and “you’re the Chairman, indeed.” These comments flew from one ear through another. As if he needed any more corporate sell-outs kissing his feet. 

The meeting came to a close with Seto’s solution being taken as the final decision. They were all easily swayed, even when the young CEO didn’t persuade them hard.

* * *

Seto slips into the car. Isono shuts the door behind the CEO and does the same for Mokuba on the other side.

“It’s unlike you, nii-sama,” Mokuba laughs, fixing his necktie which is a bright neon purple. Seto argued that it was a massacre of a tie, but his little brother liked the fact that it matched his skin tone. The two of them had just left Kaibaland, the original one, and are taking a ride back home. “Are we really pushing through with telling everyone the truth about Duel Monsters? Like with the whole Egypt thing with the other Yugi?”

“And why not?” The meeting with the project manager for the Duel History Museum didn’t last long, but Seto couldn’t stop itching to leave. After passing the project memorandum to the head design team and subcontractors, the brothers stayed a few more hours. In three months, the two-floor building should be built. Seto wanted to push for two months, that way they could move on to the other branches, yet they settled for three. Peering outside the window, Seto sees the sky peeling off its soft blues, making way for the warm ball of light to sink into the horizon. Sunset would arrive quickly and the paperwork stacked in his desk at home isn’t going away anytime soon.

“I honestly thought,” Mokuba looks down, gaining interest in his shoes, “you didn’t like remembering them.”

Whether or not Mokuba meant the time he spent going around Egyptian ruins and having awful flashbacks of his past life or the times he spent at all with Yugi’s group of friends, Seto doesn’t have the strength to ask anymore. His brother’s question hangs around in the air, leaving the remaining minutes of their ride in the limousine mildly uncomfortable. Staring outside the window’s the only option for him. He fixes his gray suit, adjusting his navy blue tie as if it was choking him.

The limousine speeds past lines of lampposts and buildings. Numerous lights from establishments here and there are beginning to be switched on, getting ready for the night. Spring was ending; it was evident in the way the locals carry an umbrella by their side. Before the scorching breath of summer could come, the rain would wash off the remainders of spring. 

Getting tired from the unbearable silence, a walk outside and a cup of coffee would help him. Though lately, coffee has been Seto’s answer to everything. He does need a way to avoid falling asleep on his desk.

“Drop me off here.” It didn’t take more than two seconds before the driver stopped near a coffee shop. Opening the door, Seto maneuvers to exit the ride, taking his briefcase and stepping on the pavement. Mokuba’s eyes left his window side, examining his older brother’s face, looking for signs of anger, before letting his eyes stray away.

Closing the door behind him, he quickly goes inside the café, pushing its wooden door open. He does a double-take. The line’s too long and there are too many people. But the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries draws him back in. No other coffee shop near Kaibaland gave him what he needed. He’ll just have to call Isono back here once he’s prepared to go home.

Spotting the end of the line, he stands behind an older man, who Seto estimates is in his mid-30s probably. With nothing else to do, Seto looks around the humble establishment. The shop was decorated with kiwi vines circling the columns and windowsills. Books were beautifully piled on the tables; now and then, customers would read them though they were mostly for design. Soft tunes play from a stereo kept near the cashier area, too far for him to recognize what song is playing. 

“It’s Seto Kaiba,” a lady who sat near him exclaims. Next thing he knows, the man in front of him started bowing and making way for Seto to take his space in the line. And so did the next lady. Then so did the next man. His jaw tightens; a part of him used to being given special treatment but another part wanted to tell them he should stay in his original place. 

Before he knew it, he got closer to the cashier. The only thing blocking him is— a familiar face. The next person in front of him now turns to look at him. Crystal clear, Seto remembers Jounouchi Katsuya even after nine years have passed. High school graduation seems so long ago. 

“Oh, great. It’s you,” Jounouchi sighs, scratching his head. Seto could feel the irritation in the blond man’s voice. “I’m not giving up my spot for you.”

There’s an itch along his throat, but he doesn’t mind it. The past is catching up to him. And so, he just takes a deep breath. 


	2. Countdown

A pillow to the face is what greets Jounouchi on the last morning of April. Stumbling off the couch he’s on, the sunlight outside flitters directly on his eyes. Slowly, Jounouchi sits up. He finds himself in a mess, a state of exhaustion still deep within his nerves and ligaments. He’s groggy now, but not in a state of inebriation as some people would think. He was overworked. A small groan leaves his lips, seeing how it was his roommate and best friend, Honda, who gave him a good morning greeting.

“You know you have your own room, right?” Honda appears against the sunlight, already dressed in a suit and holding a paper bag. They should really buy blinds for the apartment sometime. Honda walks off toward the door, half-finished with putting on his socks and shoes. “I heated some porridge for you. Looks like you need it.”

“Thanks,” he rubs his eyelids, “are you leaving already?” Honda nods from the doorway. Jounouchi looks down and notices he hadn’t even changed most of his clothes last night. After stripping off his pants, he probably conked out.  _ How unlucky.  _ Jounouchi stands up and starts to stretch, making his way to the bathroom. 

“This porridge is getting cold,” Honda calls from outside though Jounouchi wants to take his time cleaning himself from yesterday. “Did your pain-in-the-ass boss get you in trouble again? Rest up, alright?” His best friend nagging him isn’t anything new.

He and Honda started sharing an apartment four years ago. It was a safe haven for both of them — Honda, who was just about to finish college and Jounouchi, who was fed up with becoming a living host for his parasite of a father. The first few weeks of living together were fun. Parties, pizza, and karaoke became their go-to activities from the get-go. But after having a mouse feasting on the unwashed dishes and garbage they were hoarding under the kitchen drawers, the two keep everything clean. Honda’s nagging probably started from there. 

“Oh and Jou, can you pick up some cinnamon rolls from me?” Honda backs off from the apartment door and goes in front of the bathroom door as soon as Jounouchi is finished changing his clothes. “You know that coffee shop up north?”

“Pretty sure there are lots of coffee shops up north,” Jounouchi jokes, earning a kick from Honda in the shin. The blond man spots a bowl of porridge on the tiny dining-table-for-two. Getting a spoon from the pile of newly-washed dishes, Jounouchi digs in. “Seriously, where?” He asks before placing a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

“Sundial Kaffee. The one where we and Tea ate,” Honda explains, “like four months ago.” He holds his hands in the air, “with the cute lightbulb things hanging from the ceiling.” With an irritated face, he makes an opening motion, “with the books on the tables.” 

“Ah, okay.” Truth be told Katsuya already got it at the first clue, but making a fool out of Honda is always his life goal. “I’ll pick it up later,” Katsuya says. “Now, go to work, you dumbo.”

Relieved, Honda waves goodbye which Katsuya reciprocated. Honda better thank him that he didn’t have any work today. This way, he can pick up his friend’s cravings and a cup of coffee for himself, too. For now, though, he’ll sit around doing nothing.    


* * *

Katsuya finds himself exiting the train and heading up from the underground station. He tucks his umbrella tighter under his right arm. The pitter-patter of rain might come even though it is still technically Spring. Despite his initial resolution to relax at home, he couldn’t stop thinking about his job. Katsuya left home with a heavy mind.

For two and a half years, he has been working for his current construction firm as an electrician. By this time, he didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. Unfortunately for him, his boss is a former friend of his father’s. He didn’t know it at first, but as soon as the man noticed the name “Jounouchi” and how he is the spitting image of his father, Katsuya’s dumb luck fizzled out.

He tries to suppress all the times his boss belittled him and told him to go  _ easy on the alcohol.  _

The sun will set in about an hour. If his estimation is right, Katsuya has three hours before Honda comes home. Since his angst kept invading his mind, he might as well pick up Honda’s cinnamon bun. He speeds up. People litter his every view. As he passes through the ticket booths and railings, crowds entering from outside the station increase. Echoes in the tunnel resonate loudly as the footsteps and phone calls of businessmen going here and there grow plenty.

The café, he tries to remember, was located amidst conjoining streets. A large intersection? Perhaps he could even recall a building or two beside it. His leather shoes step on the sidewalk, gray and concrete. A warm palette graces above in the sky, hopefully, Honda’s going to be a bit late. The green sign plastered on a humble establishment, “Sundial Kaffee” alerts Katsuya. He better line up quickly. 

While opening the door, the cool air-conditioning of the café welcomed him. This place looks the same as it did a few months ago. A light R&B song plays from the large radio at the very back where all the baristas are busy brewing fresh batches of coffee. Katsuya walks to the side where a few people are lining up to order their hearts out. Before he could, though, someone cuts him in line.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” the woman bows to him. Seems like she was just mistaken.

“It’s okay, go ahead.” Katsuya summons the most natural smile he could despite being already tired from walking a lot. She smiles back and whispers a ‘thank you’ as she goes in front of him in the line. Their eyes meet for a second too long. If he isn't seeing spots in his eyes, Katsuya would think she’s pretty. It didn’t matter, anyway. She probably already met her soulmate whoever he or she is.

_ Whoops, there it is.  _ Another part of his life that he tries to bury under a mattress and sleep on. Katsuya itches to take a look at his soulmate mark, but he didn’t. There was a riddle and there was an answer. He has an answer sketched on his left wrist. Who could have his riddle?

“It’s Seto Kaiba,” someone exclaims. Every hair at the back of Katsuya’s neck stands up. Carefully stealing a glance behind, Katsuya almost doubles over as he sees the six-foot-tall billionaire. His shoulders gather a familiar tension in them. Two options appear in his mind — make a run for the bathroom and stay there for a few minutes or start digging his grave. 

Before he could even decide that those two options are non-negotiable, he hears shuffling behind him. From the view given by the circular mirror hanging above the menu, people are giving up their spot for Kaiba.  _ What a tool.  _ Katsuya scrunches his nose. After all these years, why is he even shocked Kaiba hasn’t changed? A narcissist. A preening turd.

“Oh, great. It’s you,” he sighs, sensing a large form behind him. There’s no escape. Eight years of subconsciously avoiding this man and he shows up where you can’t move away. A stroke of rotten luck is what Katsuya definitely has. “I’m not giving up my spot for you.”

“Then don’t,” comes Kaiba’s curt answer. No unnecessary snide remarks or quips. No sneering or glaring. Katsuya turns to look ahead of him. 

His eyes take a gander around the shop as a way to do something. They quickly go up, admiring the work done on the lights above him. The geometric light bulbs shine a dim, yellow light. They are transparent —probably LED— considering the size of the bulbs are smaller and are switched on throughout the whole day. 

Silence consumes them. What will he do now? Katsuya, with Seto Kaiba standing not more than a foot apart from him, starts to feel an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time — namely, the kind of emotion fueling him to strangle a guy. He glances sideways, “so how’re you?” 

Kaiba’s eyebrows furrow at the unexpected start of what seems to be a conversation. He seemed content looking at the nearby tables, but Katsuya snaps him out of it. “I’m fine.” Another short answer slips out, but the blond man’s having none of it.

“I see you’re not wearing your tacky coats anymore.” Katsuya’s eyes momentarily drop to Kaiba’s choice of clothing. He had abandoned the padded trench coats and the studded belts he and Honda always poked fun at. Instead, he dons a gray, double-breasted suit and a slim, blue tie. It’s still enough to steal everyone’s attention, but Katsuya calls this an improvement.

“I see that that’s still the only thing you know how to make fun of.” Kaiba bites back, the end of his lips curving up. He hasn’t aged a day. Whatever cosmetic services this man has been availing, Katsuya would want it, too.

“Still an ass, then,” Katsuya laughs breathily. The line shortens as the woman in front of him finishes ordering. 

“Bet,” Kaiba’s mouth finally forms a smirk, an expression Katsuya’s familiar with.

Katsuya turns away swiftly, facing the barista on the cashier. His eyes scan the refrigerated display of pastries despite knowing what he should order. A cinnamon bun for Honda and a hot cup of flat white coffee for him. As the order was placed and the two items were paid for, Katsuya steps aside so that the billionaire behind him could order.

Tapping his foot on the birch floorboard, Katsuya painfully waits. He bites his lips, crosses his arms, and absent-mindedly reads the titles of books stashed on a table. Sweat is pouring on the side of his face. Kaiba finishes ordering and waits by the side, as well. “So, how’s Mokuba?”

“Why?” The taller man raises his right brow, his eyes fixed in front of him. “You know we can just stand here in total silence, right?” 

Oh, Katsuya knows, alright. Chatting Kaiba up might give the impression that he is being as flighty as he was in the past, but snubbing the guy? Out of the question. “That just makes things worse,” he argues, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jackets.

“Mokuba’s alright.” Kaiba opens his mouth to say more but closes it immediately. The seconds drag on. As the sunlight from outside begins to fade, the music coming from the stereo drowns out the conversations of the crowds within the café. Kaiba eyes him, unable to mask the hesitation in his tone. “How about you?”

Katsuya isn’t certain if he heard that right, but Kaiba looks at him as if he is hoping to bore a hole through his eye socket, urging the question. “I’m--” the lack of any promising answers leaves him bewildered, “--doing okay. Haven’t dueled in ages, though.” 

“Neither have I.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Katsuya lets out a hesitant chuckle. The taller man shakes his head, his blue eyes gazing around the room. Anywhere but Katsuya, his eyes roam. The baristas are taking too long. Of course, Katsuya doesn’t mind; they were just doing their jobs. With the conversation dead, the two wait for their orders. Hey, once these few awkward minutes are done, they could go back to not ever seeing each other. Or share the same air as each other. 

“Jounouchi-san, here,” a barista says, procuring from their hands a paper bag and a cup of coffee. They place these on the countertop, allowing Katsuya to grab them.

“Thank you.” Katsuya peers into the bag to double-check. With two items in his hands and his errand successful, the blond man turns to leave the café. But, as he catches Kaiba’s fixed gaze once more, “Uh, bye,” he stutters out. “It was nice seeing you.”  _ Okay, that one’s a lie.  _

“Bye,” Kaiba hums, not at all eager to watch Katsuya leave. 

Relief and fresh air fill his lungs as he rushes out of the shop, abandoning the crowded line and the radio tunes and the headache. The sky is dark and all the lamp posts had been lit. The past few years he has spent without the reminders of failure and shame gave him some kind of rebirth.

Sipping from the tall cup, a line of foam meets his upper lip. The coffee tastes exquisite though it burned his tongue a little. Is this café the best in town? Maybe, it is. Too bad Katsuya will make it a mission to avoid this place like the plague. “Never again,” he whispers to himself as the last evening of April comes down on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hOPe y'all enjoyed ;-;-;-; More to come!


	3. Awful Taste

There was too little caffeine in Seto’s system since he had seen Jounouchi over a month ago. A ghost from his past had temporarily shaken him out of the monotony of his life and yet now, he is content to let every waking hour of his life be as stale and busy as it has been for a decade.

Save for today, at least. Seto finds himself in a suit shop near Domino City Plaza, staring at several rows of said fashion items, along with leather shoes on the bottom shelves of the wall. The room has a faint smell of cedar and mint. Tapping his foot on the polished wood floorboard, Seto counts down the time. He has to leave here before lunchtime, Mokuba would be in Kaiba Corp by then. There is no way Seto would let him see his birthday gift for his little brother.

“Seto-sama, here they are,” the tailor, Ishikawa, a man in his fifties who always wore thick-rimmed glasses and a purple lavaliere walks out from his workroom. The man presents four suits, all monochrome and pallid, from dazzling white to shallow silver. One linen, one silk while the other two were simple wool. “Are they to your liking?”

Seto already had them custom made four months ago for Mokuba, knowing that his birthday falls a little later than the start of July. Seto had wrestled to think of a good gift for a boy who will be turning twenty-one. The deal Mokuba laid down was for Seto to not go big on this year’s birthday party and presents.

“They’re all magnificent, Ishikawa.” With his hand, Seto studies the suits handed to him. They  _ are _ great, Mokuba would like it less than he would. His younger brother’s taste relied heavily on baggy, open-cuffed pants and neon neckties. But if Seto is to someday pass the torch to his younger brother, he’d have to gradually water down Mokuba’s weird fashion down the drain. (Also, who wears rainbow-knitted socks to work?) Though, Seto’s fashion sense hasn’t always been reasonable, either. 

“If that’s the case, we’ll place them here.” Ishikawa gestures his workers to place them in the garment bags hanging on a nearby rack. They handle them quickly, their nimble fingers slipping the bespoke suits in their respective cases. 

Seto’s eyes slip, instead, to the counters with neckties lined on them. A particular knit tie catches his attention. It has a shade of creamy blue and white hyacinth motifs are regularly repeated as its design. “I’ll take this, as well,” Seto announces, earning a nod from Ishikawa, who accepts the tie and places it on the counter along with the garment bags.

A buzz sets off in Seto’s breast pocket, his phone ringing. The CEO excuses himself, exiting the building. He meets the sounds of the bustling street. Midday sun rays pierce his skin as he searches for shade by the store. The caller ID displays “ _ Naomi Kaori,” _ his project manager for the Duel History Museum. “Yes?”

“The other subcontractors are here, Seto-sama,” she says. “Structural foundation and framing are mostly complete. Ubayashi-san should start work soon.”

“How many days until the base construction is complete?” Seto questions over the phone. He has to cup his mouth to the mic piece as the honking of buses might be louder than his own voice.

“Three days, maximum.”

“Good.” By Tuesday, the foundation of the building would be complete. Two months were remaining for the entire project, however. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” Seto hangs up, ready to go back inside before seeing his bodyguard, Roland, clearly enjoying being on his personal cell phone, texting someone Seto assumed is the guy’s significant other— who was apparently his soulmate. The smile on Roland’s face makes it apparent. Cringing internally, Seto pries away from the view but remembers the suits that need carrying. “Roland, fetch the suits inside now.”

“Yes, sir!” Roland’s head quickly snaps up, with the hand that is holding his phone sneakily snaking its way to his back pocket, quickly making way for the entrance to the building. Normally, this kind of behavior wouldn’t go past him. In fact, no person who worked under him would even dare lift a finger if Seto didn’t say so. But as he realized, people have a life outside of him. He wasn’t going to be petty about it, though his fists ball up still. Anyway, it’s almost twelve PM, Seto has to hurry up.

“Kaiba?” A familiar voice calls his name and before he can even turn his head, he sighs, knowing exactly who it is. Jounouchi Katsuya. With his ridiculous blond hair, he stands before Seto, rubbing the back of his head with his left hand. “If I knew you’d be here, I would’ve stayed inside.” He gestures to the residential compound beside the tailor shop.

“What are you doing here?” is all Seto could muster out of his vocal cords. He hears sparking lines coming from the compound. With the men wearing similar clothes as Jounouchi, who is holding a giant toolbox, Seto puts two and two together. 

“Seriously, I could ask you the same thing,” Jounouchi scratches his cheek. Despite his head bowing down, he looks up at Seto, his eyes, which are a deep chocolate, crinkle as he chuckles. “I’m working, duh.”

Seto groans. He really hated it when Jounouchi makes a point. A light wind blows against his body, distracting him from the person in front of him. What’s taking Roland so long? “You should get back in there, then.”

Jounouchi shakes his head, turning his attention to the grooves under the tool box’s handle. “I was just grabbing these. A house over there needed some repairs in their automatic light system.” A bead of sweat drops from his temple which he wiped after. “Yup, I can fix those now. So, what brings you here?” Before he could finish his sentence, Jounouchi peers behind Seto. Seto follows the direction of his gaze.

“Seto-sama, the shopping bags are here.” Roland emerges from the store, carrying the garment bags with both of his hands. 

“I-In the back.” Seto’s lips press together tightly as he watches Roland open the trunk of his white limousine. He faces Jounouchi again, but his eyes linger sideways. “Those are for Mokuba,” he explains, jutting his thumb toward the contents shoved carefully in the trunk. 

“ _ Sure, it is. _ ” Jounouchi lifts his eyebrows as a playful smirk graces the shape of his lips. 

Does this idiot think I’m on a shopping haul for myself? Seto’s hands bring themselves up but stop them mid-chest, placing them on his hips instead. An irritated sigh escapes from the back of his throat, exiting his lips in a stilted manner. Jounouchi’s snickering doubles. “For his birthday,” Seto adds, giving the other man a glare. “Next month.”

Jounouchi is not at all buying it despite it being the truth. Seto isn’t even sure why embarrassment is flooding his veins. This isn’t the worst birthday gift for Mokuba he could be caught dead planning for. On Mokuba’s birthday last year, Seto made the choice of inviting exotic dancers to their yacht party. No particular reason behind his choice other than other bachelors telling him it’s what normal people do during their young adult days. However, neither Seto nor Mokuba enjoyed it. He, himself, had his reasons, but Mokuba might just be too shell-shocked (that his older brother succumbed to this idea) to enjoy. 

“You should go back inside.”

“Will do, my boss is an ass, though.” Jounouchi nods, his smile fading from the slightly tanned features of his face. “Treats me as if, I’m a dumbass who doesn’t know anything.” The last few words knitted a deeper agony, one that doesn’t need Seto’s probing to figure out. 

Seto knows exactly what he meant, being one of the perpetrators of whatever past difficulties Jounouchi had. Once again, past memories haunt him. Back when he used to call this guy in front of him a self-deprecating dog. Seto’s jaw tightens. The two, for a while, stand in silence. Ignoring his impulse to stay quiet, Seto spoke. “Well, if you want,” his tone steady, as if this isn’t a shot in the dark, “there’s a job opening in Kaibaland. We could use more manpower and aren’t you an elec—”

“Wait a second.” Jounouchi’s voice disrupts Seto’s thought process. The gap between them shortens as Jounouchi speaks, freely and fiery. “ _ You  _ expect  _ me _ to take a job offer,” his index finger pointing between them, “from you? I’m sorry about this, but I don’t think—” the rest of his words trail off, not allowing themselves to be formed. Whatever the next words are, he’s doing his best to hold them back. “I gotta go,” he says with finality. “Uh, I’ll think about it.”

But without a doubt, Jounouchi would not think about it. Without sparing Seto a glance, Jounouchi turns back where he was working, a residential compound that had houses with earth tone roofs lined in a square. Seto’s gaze falls on the houses, not letting himself ponder on the massive line that he had just crossed. Of course, Jounouchi would say no. Not after Seto manhandled, stepped on, and abused his pride for years. 

“Shit,” Seto whispers under his breath after taking note of the time.

* * *

Seto’s rushed footsteps are heard throughout the top floor of the Kaiba Corporation's main building. His employees make way for him, dipping their backs into a right-angled bow. Right now, it is half-past twelve, and Seto, swiveling his head left and right, can see no trace of Mokuba.

His office, with the platinum door knobs plastered on white double doors, remains empty aside from the large cabinets housing first prototypes of all past Kaiba Corp endeavors, couches sat on by no one in particular and his desk which has several stacks of paperwork piled neatly on it. Seto makes his way to the locked cabinet perpendicular from his desk, a few meters short from the large glass windows. This is where he’ll keep the suits for now. Not at the penthouse and certainly not flaunting under his desk.

The nerves of his arms jolt as a picture fell from inside the cabinet he opened. He catches it. The picture film is terribly small, fitting just right into his palm. Peering closer, Seto could remember what the story behind the captured memory was. He had dismissed it and pushed it into the closet a while back, not daring to even organize it well. It was taken by Mokuba, who occupied three-fifths of the picture, of the after events of Battle City. His brother was probably three whole feet shorter than him back then. Not yet a boy-turning-man asking for a larger part in his older brother’s work responsibilities. 

Despite none of them posing for the picture, Mokuba thought they all should have at least one momentous picture together.

“Ugh,” he inwardly retches as he spots himself. He was sporting his popped-collar, padded, white trench coat with burgundy linings and a power stance. Behind him, Yugi’s gang was there. Seto’s eyes shift and linger to Jounouchi, holding up gang signs with a wolfish grin.

Seto shoves the picture into the cabinet without another thought, following it with the garment bags before closing the cabinet door shut. Revisiting it won’t be an option until Mokuba’s birthday. If Seto ever forgot he stashed more mementos in there, he wouldn’t soon want to find out.

Over the next week, Seto makes sure he buried his slip-up with Jounouchi at the back of his mind. What he did or said, came from a long-standing desire to be absolved from his now-earned loneliness. He had good intentions by offering him the job? Jounouchi sure didn’t see it that way. Perhaps Seto should’ve stayed quiet. After all, it isn’t like Jounouchi Katsuya to come begging.

Understandably, Seto wills himself to work, day by day, not allowing this to trouble him. He expects nothing more from Jounouchi and he expects no more complaints of regrets from himself.

Still, reality always trumps his expectations.

The day is Saturday, June 15, when he spots Jounouchi Katsuya right outside of the Kaiba Corp building, hesitating the walk past the front entrance. It took him a while to notice Seto coming toward him and walking past the revolving glass doors. Puzzled is an understatement as to the tangled knots being produced by Seto’s thoughts. The two, finally at a speaking distance, do not immediately say whatever there is to say. Seto keeps quiet, not at all eager to make the next mistake. 

“Were you serious about the job?” Jounouchi, this time, breaks the uneasy tranquility. The man’s hands are in his pockets yet they twitch noticeably within them.

“Yes.” The word comes out before Seto could stop it. Nothing about the past week of regretting to offer the job can be heard from his voice. He really should think before speaking.

“Okay, cool.” Jounouchi staggers, a lump stuck between his throat and his pride. With his eyebrows lurching toward each other, the next few words come out uncomfortably. “Can I take it? I’m only available for part time though.” 

This isn’t what Seto’s been bracing himself for over the past week. If this goes according to what Seto imagined, Jounouchi would have punched him square in the nose. Yet, instead, he accepted and Seto, of course, is willing to follow through. “Kaibaland, starting Monday. And remember the name Ubayashi Futo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Will try to update again next weekend!

**Author's Note:**

> Many more to come!


End file.
